


Immortality Never Meant Not Dying

by theHighJustice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: (not terribly but stuff is changing for good), (sorry), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is taking over Supernatual, Harry Potter works in the bar from Episode 1, Harry's a secret wizard, It goes downhill from there, M/M, No jessica, OOC everyone, Supernatural - Canon Divergence from Episode 1 Season 1, Supernatural-centric, Winchesters don't know, but i tried, i can be jealous but i can't be british, i can't be british or use british terms, p.s. i'm american, these people have no characterization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theHighJustice/pseuds/theHighJustice
Summary: Harry made it through the war. Breezing his way through Eight Year and his NEWTs, he managed to escape the politics and backsliding of the Ministry. But two years following the war and its aftermath, Ron and Hermione are gone and Harry barely escapes with his sanity.But, Harry Potter had escaped his own war only to fall right back into someone else’s.The title was picked, whipped and butchered from the lyrics from Our Lady of Sorrows (My Chemical Romance).P.S. I'm very American, so I'm using American terms. I hate abusing Harry Potter that way, but that's just the way it's gotta be.





	1. RSVP

**Author's Note:**

> This story will begin at the beginning of the Supernatural series, incorporating an unwilling Harry  
> Potter and effectively changing the entire story for our favorite Winchesters. And it's gonna follow the Harry Potter timeline too, so Harry'll be like 25, Sam 22, Dean 26 (or so I imagine, I'm not too concerned with the math really).

**Immortality Never Meant Not Dying**

_RSVP_

* * *

After the war ended, Harry had grown used to the general hubbub and the oversimplification of the events that led to the end of Voldemort. He preferred it, really. All the secrets he’d kept after Dumbledore’s death had eclipsed the reality of the war and no one had been ready to question the word of the Chosen One. He was contemptuous of the things that were said in the stead of the truth. However, Harry had been more worried about bringing more attention to himself once it was all over. At first, it’d been more of his wanting to grieve for those lost to the war. Whether it was thoughts of those who’d stood on their own, matching Dark wizards and Death Eaters curse for curses or considering the what ifs of the curses which had flown by him, scarcely missing Harry or being taken by a nearby Order member or Hogwarts student who wasn’t alive when it was all over. Harry was simply tired and longed for a version of the world where he wasn’t revered for murder, for breaking the laws set by a Ministry who’d fallen or for being the sole cause of a war that had killed so many.

As the days, weeks and months went by, Harry had retreated into Grimmauld Place with only a silent Kreacher for company. Despite his history with the house elf, the two found themselves working side by side as Harry made the decision to bring the old place back to some of its former glory. Once the dust and cobwebs had all been cleared away, Harry made it his mission to locate the dark artifacts still lurking in many of the disused rooms in the house. His hunt had taken him places he’d never seen, including various shortcuts from one end of the house to another. Those pathways, Harry was certain, must have been formed by magic if his arriving in the kitchen fireplace from the top floor was any indication. If he were any good with such charms, Harry would have put Grimmauld Place on its own version of the Hogwarts map.

By the time Hogwarts opened for another year, Harry hadn’t spoken to Ron or Hermione in weeks. His desire for seclusion had affected not only him, but the entirety of the Weasley family, who only held a sad sort of acceptance to Harry’s wishes. He’d even gone so far as to keep Molly’s final letter on the mantle of the fireplace, reading her words of best wishes. Though each time he picked it up, he was met with the longing to make contact, but the firm decisiveness of knowing that this time was something he needed to take, even as the Wizarding World banged at his door for interviews and autographs and baby-kissing. That decision led to the silence of platform 9 ¾ as he’d arrived as well as being swarmed by the crowd of red hair that was the Weasley family and the bushy mass of Hermione as she lectured him about not being in touch. Despite it all, Harry was glad to close his eyes and welcome them all, accepting their hugs and greetings with something other than the darkness of what he’d experienced near five months earlier.

Walking the halls of a crumbling Hogwarts was taxing for Harry. Many floors of the castle were blocked off, sections webbed with various floating caution signs. It was bittersweet to see the Professors standing tall in their temporary classrooms, taking great happiness in introducing themselves to the few first year arrivals and welcoming back those who were brave enough to return after the war’s conclusion. During those days, Harry once again grew close with Hermione and Ron. Together, they often used their Eighth Year privilege of venturing off of Hogwarts’ grounds to visit the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer or the Hog’s Head for firewhiskey on some of the bad days. While Ron and Hermione grew closer, Harry thought of Ginny, lost in the war, and a relationship he’d only ever entertained with a girl who seemed honestly in love with him.

Most surprising, or maybe not as such if decided by Hermione’s stance on the matter, was Harry’s sudden and all-consuming relationship with Draco Malfoy.

Like everyone else, Harry had read all about the trials which led to Azkaban, the Dementor’s Kiss, or both, for many Death Eaters. Among those to be released were Narcissa and Malfoy while the family patriarch was one of the few to narrowly escape the Kiss, but still sentenced to twenty plus years in Azkaban. Narcissa, if Harry recalled correctly, was sentenced to house arrest, with her wand tapped for watching and the family fortune shaved to nearly a quarter of its worth. The house elves were all released to the Ministry for work or relocation and rebinding. Malfoy however had been told by then Caretaker Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt that he was given a second chance to make the right decision and subsequently told he had no choice but to attend Hogwarts for his Eighth Year before he would be handed over his title of head of the family.

Harry hadn’t expected to see Malfoy laid so low during the year. His boyhood adversary had returned to Hogwarts with none of his Malfoy pride. Instead, he’d kept his head down, spoke very little and strictly refused to respond to all the dark thoughts and actions turned his way. Many were viciously gratified to spout their hate his direction while isolating him until Harry stood from his seat among the Gryffindors to take a silent vigil across from Malfoy at the near empty Slytherin table. While the change wasn’t immediate and scarcely translated to public, Harry was once again proud to get a glimpse of the Malfoy he’d known all those years. Despite the brief tension between Ron and Harry lasting nearly three weeks following his proclamation that Malfoy was his friend, their Eighth Year was normal; Hermione would often ponder that it was the best year of Hogwarts and of them had ever experienced. Though Ron insisted it was only because they were all working, now, just as hard on their studies and managed to become the top students, along with Malfoy and a few returning Ravenclaws, among their year.

That year changed, once again, when Malfoy became Draco.

Perhaps it was the way Malfoy often looked at Harry; as if he were a puzzle impossible to solve. Harry had become so used to the look, he’d returned it with a fond on of his own and Malfoy would only look back down, once again concentrating on his own tasks. Or maybe, it was the transitioning of one Malfoy to the next, as the old Malfoy returned and, instead of finding the not so pointy man distasteful, Harry found that Malfoy was _witty_. The sly, nearly always impertinent, humor made Harry laugh in a way that he could pretend, for a while anyway, that the war had been nothing but a distant nightmare. And that, if anything, should have been reason enough for Harry to suspect.

It was following one of those moments when Harry looked up at Malfoy and he became Draco while Harry’s breath caught in his throat and his heart fluttered and his body felt light enough to float away. The Slytherin had looked up as Harry laughed, quicksilver eyes turning upward with that pale blond hair falling in curtains alongside his soft cheekbones and Harry came to the abrupt and surprisingly breathtaking realization that he was lost to this Malfoy. Draco brought to Harry bright, brilliant, but all-consuming emotion, where it roiled in his gut and thrummed in his veins.

During the final months of Hogwarts, just the sight of that pale hair conjured images of illicit meetings in the corridors where near hesitant touches turned to rough grasping and heaving breaths. Harry had often dreamed of the moonlight turning Draco’s naked skin even paler as the two lay entwined, making new memories of the astute-as-ever Room of Requirement. Their relationship, while a secret but to all except Harry’s closest friends (including Luna, who hadn’t needed to be told), burned brilliantly until they all departed Hogwarts and it was something Harry carried with him, even as Draco made the decision to branch out on his own, deciding a path other than what the Malfoy name had once laid out to him.

Even now, two years later and a little less than a year since Harry had heard from Draco, the response Harry had to just the memories he’d made with the man, elicited emotions that made Harry content, whatever the situation. It made Harry wonder, sometimes, how Draco was getting along on his career with the Aurors.

Sitting before the fireplace nursing a glass of firewhiskey, Harry simply smiled when the fire flared green and Hermione stepped out wearing her Ministry robes. Her wild hair had been contained, except for a few fly-aways, and her eyes were shining above the smile on her lips.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted him, leaning over to press his shoulders into a brief hug and placing a kiss to his cheek. Hermione sat down beside him undoing the robes from around her shoulders and resting it along the arm of the worn couch Harry hadn’t yet managed to replace.

“It’s good to see you,” Harry replied when she’d settled. He leaned forward to sit the still-full tumbler of firewhiskey on the table. Straightening from being tilted nearly in half, Harry caught sight of Hermione’s hand, tucked between her knees. “Congratulations, I think.”

“Oh, hush, Harry,” she said, smiling once again. “I figured it was time, yeah? Hiding the ring was the best idea I’ve had my entire life.”

Harry hummed to hide the laughter that wanted to come out. He figured he could point out a few better ideas she’d had since she became the best friend of Harry Potter.

But the two of them had discovered Ron’s secret at the start of Eighth Year. Hermione, quite determined to keep her own focus on her studies and not becoming a married woman at only eighteen, had promptly slipped the ring and its smooth velvet box among her own things, of which Ron was quite vehement in not touching.

“I’m sure he thought it was something of a miracle, finding it again after all that time,” Hermione laughed fondly. She turned her eyes to him, shifting on the couch to look at him completely. “How are you doing? You look well. Better than you did a few months ago, anyway.”

Harry acknowledged that with a shrug.

“I have my days. They’re still knocking at my door every few days. Ministry owls are formidable, but even they can’t get in the wards.” Harry snorted in amusement. “Sometimes it feels like I’m back at the Dursley’s waiting for a letter with them all camped outside.”

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to give them something every now and again,” Hermione implored. “While the Ministry may not go about it in an acceptable way, everyone just wants to know that you’re safe, Harry. And happy. If anything, you deserve it. We all fought the war, Harry, but you died and came back.”

Harry picked his tumbler back up and drank, ignoring the fire racing down his throat and into his stomach.

“Yes, I came back Hermione. And hundreds more didn’t. I’d been told my whole life what I was expected to do and then I found out that I had to die to do it. In fact, I was happy to die there if someone would be able to kill Voldemort once and for all. But I came back.” Harry expelled the hollowness in his chest and blinked wide, green eyes to Hermione. “And I have no idea what I’m meant to do now.” Silence followed and Harry felt pressing guilt for brining Hermione down from her own happiness. No matter that he knew she would protest his feeling guilty for putting someone else above himself, he still felt it as a weight upon his shoulders.

“Oh, Harry.”

“No it’s alright.” He looked at Hermione with a smile he hoped was not as shaky as he felt. By her worried glance, he didn’t think he’d quite managed it. “I’ll be alright, you’ll see.” Considering the _what ifs_ of the curses which had flown by him, scarcely missing him or being taken by a nearby Order member or Hogwarts student who wasn’t alive when it was finally over. But it was. It really was over and Harry knew that if he didn’t move on now, he never would. And starting with his best friends’ happiness seemed a good place to start.

Hermione stayed a few hours, eventually dispersing the morbid air which had filled the room. She was very happy to give Harry the details of the wedding, most of which Hermione had been planning since hiding the ring those years ago. After managing to get back her parents, with the help of a Mind Healer volunteer from St. Mungo’s, Hermione left the wedding plans in her mother’s capable hands. Ron, she insisted, had expressed no interest in being a part of the planning and so was unaware of how much they’d progressed. Besides, Hermione told Harry, Ronald wouldn’t know the first thing about the amount of time it takes to plan a good wedding. After further inquiring about Harry as well as Teddy and Andromeda, Hermione departed on the promise that she would be owling wedding invitations soon.

By then, Harry realized it was late noon. After collecting a package from a familiar cinnamon colored barn owl waiting outside his window (and handing over treats he kept on hand for the occasion), Harry made his way to the kitchen, ignored Kreacher’s grumbling from his nook and the subsequent crack of his departure. He made himself busy preparing his own dinner and while he allowed it to simmer, Harry settled to the table. After opening the package and pulling from it a cork necklace of green string, he pulled out the letter along with it.

_Hello Harry!_

_It’s been a while since I received a letter. But that’s okay, the wrackspurts almost certainly made you forget. I haven’t forgotten, however, that your clothes were begin stolen. I’ve included my necklace to keep away the nargles, as they are most assuredly your culprit._

_Father has departed from our expedition suddenly to journey back. He seemed to think the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks had been spotted, so it’s now just Rolf and I. We are still in South America, trying to study a new creature we captured in a Muggle town. Quite sad, but it killed a child in the family before we managed to subdue it. But Harry the venture seems impossible as the creature is quite invisible. None of the spells we’ve tried is making this easier. I’m nearly sure that invisibility is this creature’s natural form. Isn’t that amazing? Rolf is sure that he’s heard about similar attacks on other Muggle families. Of course, he’s gone off his head searching for his grandfather’s old field journals (those that didn’t make publication, of course) to find it._

_And yes, Harry, we are being safe in the presence of the creature._

_But tell me about you? How are you feeling Harry? Your aura was still sad when we left. I want to know you’re doing better. The wrackspurts hanging all over you were certainly not helping. If you’re feeling a bit fuzzy, think good thoughts. Or perhaps you should reach out to Draco. He was the most effective in keeping them away._

_Write soon._

_Luna_

Harry set aside Luna’s letter thoughtfully. Then, he stood to finish dinner.

* * *

The next morning was the start of the weekend. Harry woke, showered and departed Grimmauld place before nine in the morning. Locking up the Muggle way and securing the wards on the place, Harry apparated to Andromeda’s walkway. By the time he’d reached the front door, her wards had already alerted her and the door was open to Andromeda’s smile and Teddy peering around her excitedly. His hair was doing an odd dance as it changed from its usual settled blue to wild black curls that were still more contained than Harry’s would ever be.

“Good morning, Harry,” Andromeda’s warm voice greeted him. “Come in.”

Andromeda was not one to bask in frivolities and her quaint, cozy home proved it. While Harry had come around many times, he was always struck by the feeling surrounding him each time he stepped in. It was the complete opposite of the slight darkness which still lingered in Grimmauld. Her home was all light and happiness and it made Harry feel as if he’d made the right decision when he’d allowed her to take in Teddy following the war. Andromeda’s grief was an experience that was not easily pushed away, with all of her immediate family estranged or dead. After seeing her with Teddy for the first time, Harry knew that it really was the only choice, as he was in no fit state to take care of a baby. Seeing Teddy was enough for Harry and it certainly made him feel better about knowing that, while Teddy had lost his parents, he wouldn’t grow up without love and family the way Harry had.

Upon being offered tea for the morning, Harry and Andromeda made their way to the kitchen. Harry held Teddy on his hip while the young Metamorphmagus showed him his new dragon toy. The small, wizarding toy only huffed smoke from its nostrils and rustled its wings. But Teddy was more than delighted with it and took to playing with it in the kitchen as Harry set to making the tea himself.

“It’s so good to see you Harry. We haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been a bit busy.” Harry carefully poured two cups of tea, bringing them back to the kitchen island. Sitting beside her, he wrapped his hands around his own while Andromeda stirred in sugar. “Recently, I’ve been thinking about becoming a Healer. Hannah and I have been doing some of the studying together at St. Mungo’s.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry!” Andromeda encouraged. “It’s good you’re figuring out what you want to do. It has been a while since you decided against the aurors.”

“The aurors was something they just wanted to give to me.” Harry frowned. “If I’d accepted, I would have been a field auror from the day I walked into the department. It would not have been something I’ve earned.”

“You fought a war, Harry. Anyone would argue that you were more than qualified.” Andromeda looked at him softly. “Besides, with the numbers of the force being so low, the qualifications have become very lax. All of the wizarding world still needs protected.”

“I understand,” Harry acquiesced. “But relaxing qualifications and throwing them aside completely are two different things. Other candidates still spent months in training courses before they were put into the field. Even Draco” – Harry ignored the flicker in Andromeda’s gaze as he spoke the name – “had to finish the training by the time he’d come back. It’s not like he was just some student who wanted to fight the rest of the dark wizards. He was a war hero just like I was.”

“Yes, well the Malfoy family spent the entirety of the war on the wrong side. Draco sacrificed his position on the other side only once it was clear it was the _losing_ side. Some would say he only did it to save his own skin.”

“He wouldn’t – “

“However, I think differently,” Andromeda finished with a pointed look in his direction. “I may not have been a close member of my sister’s new family, but I understood my nephew, if nothing else. I understood what it was like to want something that my family did not.

“You don’t know this, but I did have time to reconnect with Narcissa and Draco after the war. She refused to go back inside that manor after Lucius was arrested and I didn’t blame her. Before they were arrested, I took them in and I know now that they were both tied to their own sense of family.”

Andromeda studied Harry closely. She pushed aside her chilled cup of tea and put a hand over Harry’s.

“I know about you and Draco. No,” she said firmly when Harry made to ask, “no one needed to tell me. When he returned to Hogwarts, I just knew Draco would be miserable; set apart from the rest of the school. I expected his letters because I knew he would be reaching out for someone familiar, friendly. But I didn’t expect that less than three months into the year, he would be writing me to tell me about you, Harry. While it should not have taken me so long to say it, I really want to thank you for that. The four of you are all that I have left in my family. I want all of you to be happy and if Draco is what brings that for you, then I think you need to consider getting back in contact. I really do.”

She was silent for a moment as Harry turned to watch Teddy, lying on the floor with the dragon in front of him, silently breathing puffs of smoke.

“I know that he’s waiting for you.”

* * *

Of anyone that survived through the fear and the fighting and the losses of the war, Draco Malfoy was perhaps the only person who understood that Harry Potter was not okay. To the friends who’d known of their relationship in Hogwarts, they had been happy together, on the verge of discovering a better life. But what they hadn’t seen was that in the aftermath of their ardent meetings Harry had turned from a boy forced to grow up far too soon to a man who struggled with the darkness that lingered in his thoughts and imprisoned his magic. Powers too abundant and heavy to control lashed out at the worst of times, making a victim of Draco more than anyone else exposed to him. Harry once wanted to believe that the darkness was an aftermath of Voldemort’s continued presence in his head, and also as the dark stain latched onto his own soul, but he could not deny that it was his own drive – emotions – that frequently caused him to lose control.

As mutual as their parting had been, Harry knew that Draco made his decision partially based on his own disquiet in regards to Harry and who he was turning into. While none other knew it, or ever mentioned noticing, the relationship between he and Draco had turned strained and there had been less talking. They suffered, because in Harry’s dark grief, he and his own magic, had been working a web, tight and unyielding, around Draco that only worsened as Harry’s mind contemplated his ownership of someone as dark, beautiful and complex as Draco was.

Their mutual parting came only after Harry reached out to Draco in a rare moment of clarity and asked him to find a way to bind the rather dark energy holding onto his magic. And while Draco might have been afraid of the hold, that web which had likely contributed to his acquiescence, he stepped into the role whole heartedly. He worked tirelessly not only with spells, but with potions and potions _ideas_ from Snape’s own personal journals left behind after his death. The work eventually paid off, as they were first able to dissolve the web tying Draco to Harry, then contain the darkness inside Harry, but not remove it.

Even now, it still thrashed in its cage residing somewhere in his soul, howling for release with every beat of his heart. It wanted to command; control, but Harry was absolutely certain that he would never give it the chance. And it was for this reason that Harry ignored Andromeda’s advice. He refused to reach out to Draco, who made the darkness in Harry rebel with a strength he wasn’t sure he could counter. So, he sat before the fire in Grimmauld Place, eyeing the wedding invitation with dark green eyes.

For all of them, the past years had changed much and that included Hermione and Ron. The haunted look was gone from Ron’s eyes and the still visible ‘mudblood’ scar adorning Hermione’s exposed arm could not take away from the radiance of the dancing photograph decorating the invitation. Remembering the avid look of resignation in Draco’s eyes as Harry’s web curled tighter, Harry scrawled out his own RSVP card, pointedly leaving the plus one empty.


	2. Auror Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is dragged in. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done! Here goes nothing...

**Immortality Never Meant Not Dying**

_Auror Malfoy_

While Harry kept away from the wizarding world, he wasn’t blind to the realities of what they were fighting even after Voldemort was gone. Ron’s recent owls had only shown to Harry that there was another group of dark wizards who had yet to identify themselves, but were becoming involved in an increasing number of open cases in the Auror department. Pansy, the _Prophet’s_ new star reporter, has written countless articles on the wizards. She’d even gone so far as to feature the victims who could be found (and agreed to be interviewed) and had, thus far, discovered more about them than the Aurors themselves. Ron, of course, cornered her every chance he could get, even going as far as to ask Hermione to set lunch with Pansy, to advance his own cases.

The new situation disturbed Harry more than he could express. And, if he were being honest about it all, he was angry that even now, when two wars had already been fought against wizards like this, there were still those who wanted nothing more than to cause unnecessary pain. But only recently, the cases had taken a turn. Based on the Pansy’s new article, a wizard by the name of Glover Milton had been discovered dead. The Aurors had only gotten to the case after his three children were reported missing when they did not open their potions shop for nearly four days. The case was the only reason he agreed to meet Ron for lunch at a small café near the Ministry.

“They gave it to _me_ , Harry,” Ron moaned.

“I’m sure I remember you saying you didn’t have enough interesting cases, dark wizards or not.” At Harry’s words, Ron shot him an unimpressed look.

“ _Interesting_ cases Harry. That’s what I want. Not the _impossible_ ones.” As usual, Ron ate quickly while he talked, forcing his words passed the chewed up mass of his sandwich. Harry rolled his eyes and looked away, still picking at his own cucumber sandwich. “Robards is going on about bringing in the Unspeakables for this. Milton may have been muggle-born, but he was still a wizard. There wasn’t a single magical signature around his house. The wards were in place and they hadn’t been tampered with. Milton was just sitting on his couch staring at his telly. Not a single mark on him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“He would’ve been scanned. Had he been given any potions?”

“No. Even Hermione couldn’t say what happened to him. They may not say it but both Robards and Shacklebolt are worried. For dark wizards to start something like this so soon after Voldemort…” Ron shrugged unable to finish. “The caseloads for the Aurors are already high. Not only murder investigations, but missing persons, stolen artifacts. A Hogwarts student is wrapped up in all this. Let me tell you, McGonagall is not pleased—”

“Which student?”

“A kid by the name of Tolbert. Would’ve been a first year when the Death Eaters took over the school. Poor sap; had to deal with the Carrows all year.”

“How’s he involved?” Harry asked, frowning. He remembered all too well being caught up in matter better left to the adults. In his case, he’d had no choice, what with the prophecy and all. But it Harry could help it now, he would keep the kid far away from the Auror department _and_ their cases.

“He’s a fourth year now. Just got his permissions to go to Hogsmeade. His first trip there, of course, he tried to sneak into the Shrieking Shack. From his statement, he reckons he walked in on something. Saw a few flashing lights, heard some spells that he could translate well enough to know it was dark, but didn’t see any faces. Couldn’t identify anyone if he tried, but Robards wants to make sure he’s protected and stationed a few Aurors at Hogwarts for now. If you ask me, he’s only inviting trouble up there.”

“I agree,” Harry said firmly. “It sounds like no one even knew he was there in the first place. Having Aurors around is only going to make these wizards suspicious. And who’s to say they don’t have people _inside_ Hogwarts already?”

As he said it, Harry realized that these dark wizards very well _could_ already have spies inside. Just this year, Hogwarts hired no less than four new professors. The knowledge didn’t make Harry feel any better.

“You know me Harry. I’ve already spoken to McGonagall. The Aurors aren’t allowed to shadow any student specifically. And she’s come up with her own plans for them.” Ron grinned, his food long gone and swallowed. Harry was grateful. “She’d got them patrolling the corridors at all hours. From what I know, the Aurors aren’t even close enough to the kid for anyone to make the connection. He’ll be safe. I’m sure about that.”

Harry nodded and Ron was too happy to change the subject. Suddenly he was going on about the wedding and the plans that Molly wouldn’t let him be a part of. Hermione, of course, was right alongside her, distracting Ron with food when he began to show too much interest.

When it was time for Ron to return to work, Harry walked with him to the doors of the Ministry before they parted. Harry then Apparated to Hogsmeade where he stopped at the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta was happy to chat with Harry while he sat. Mostly to catch up on the repairs which were being done in the town, though most were simply cosmetic more than any real need to rebuild the homes and businesses the Death Eaters were happy to destroy.

It was a while before Harry made eany movement, as he noticed the students walking into the town from the direction of Hogwarts. He eluded any notice by then ensconcing himself into a dark corner while chattering students wandered in with smiles for Madam Rosmerta, who didn’t seem to notice his sudden absence. The students all travelled in groups, sitting together and talking loudly about the spells they were learning in classes. Harry, nostalgically, was reminded of his own school years and was glad that, at least, these students were safe from Voldemort permanently.

Still, when it became apparent that no others were arriving, Harry cast a quick glamor over himself before stalking out the door. Not having found what he was looking for inside, Harry stepped outside and immediately spotted the marron robes of the aurors with their shining Ministry emblem patched in. The aurors were attempting to be casual, but lacked the advantage of being inconspicuous. Their eyes roved the students walking Hogsmeade and running from shop to shop, but as they strayed nearer to the spattering of building less popular, Harry began to head in that direction. He ducked behind a closed shop to pass behind them and already knew he was heading back toward the Shrieking Shack.

Instead of rounding the building to follow the path to the Shack’s gates, Harry made to cut through the trees, forced to use his wand and severing charms to get the bare branches out of his way. When his feet began to crackle over the fallen leaves, he used a muffling charm on his shoes before beginning to move again. Coming closer to the edges of the trees, Harry was able to make out the figure nimbly making their way over the extended length of field from the meager fence to the door of the Shrieking Shack. Eying them for a moment, Harry made a decision and raised his wand. Harry’s wand was consumed in light as three silver stags stood before him before running off, vanishing into mere wisps as they all headed in separate directions.

As he proceeded to make his way across the grounds, quickly following, Harry kept his wand clutched in hand. The Shack was growing larger and the figure more pronounced just before they vanished inside the door, it closing silently behind them as if it’d never been opened. Harry opted to keep from the main entrance and crept around, finding the boarded windows and peeling paint just before he came across a cellar door, covered in twisting vines with jagged spikes. Severing the weeds and overgrowth took more time than Harry would have liked, but he made it through, hoping it was as silent as he thought. Still, the doors creaked as he opened them and he knew if he hadn’t been exposed then, he very much was now.

When Harry reached the bottom of the too-narrow concrete steps, he found himself looking into the same room he’d faced in third year. The dusty bed was still broken, collapsed in on itself from Snape’s plunge and the disturbed dust of the floor echoed all the steps taken by himself and the six other occupants of the room. Harry shuddered away from the visual, looking away and quickly deciding this was not where he needed to be, as no one else was around. Stepping into the dark hall, Harry paused to use the disillusionment charm and hoped the _muffliato_ managed to hide the sound of his footsteps for a while longer. As he started up the stair at the far end, Harry silently wished he still carried his invisibility cloak with him.

Coming to the main floor of the Shack, Harry was unsure what he was seeing. A boy, young and wearing Hogwarts robes in Ravenclaw blue, sat in a worn armchair, staring blankly at the table on which a potion bubbled in front of two men. They were indistinguishable in both looks and voice as they argued over the potion, which chose that moment to shoot off sparks of color not dissimilar to the description given to the aurors. Turning his gaze back to the boy, Harry suspected that he was looking at the Tolbert boy. But his eyes were clouded; muted blue. He sat in his chair with a stiff back, not even showing any form of cognitive recognition of the men arguing before him. Making sure the cloak covered him, Harry began to walk around, keeping close to the walls to avoid any contact with the floor, which he could hear creaking under the agitated footsteps of the wizards. He was near the door, contemplating removing his cloak to have a better shot at the wizards, when a silvery Jack Russell Terrier came running through the wall, wagging its tail and looking around. The animal’s eyes locked on Harry before it dispersed, the bright light vanishing as quickly as it’d come.

Before Harry could bring himself to react, red light was racing toward him in the wake of the bellowing of, “ _Crucio!_ ” from the other side of the room. Harry’s teeth clenched against the pain, all-consuming as it was, refusing to cry out. He knew his body was convulsing against the floor, but he couldn’t feel the pain of falling or even the effect of it. He felt as if he were dying, having enduring the pain for _ages_ instead of the brevity it which the curse was stopped. Harry gasped on the floor, his limbs shaking and barely able to keep his fingers wrapped around his wand. The door next to him was open and, though his vision had nearly whitened out, Harry could see Ron, standing there with his wand raised high, firing curses of his own. Intent on making certain the wizards were caught, Harry dragged himself up from the floor, the cloak falling as he leaned heavily against the peeling wall.

Raising his wand, Harry gasped out, “ _Stupify!”_ The spell hit the wall as the wizard ducked out of the way, a _protego_ blooming from the tip of his wand. Beside him, Ron strode closer, spells firing from his wand in rapid-fire, one of them hitting the cauldron bubbling at the center of the room. There was a loud curse as the cauldron tipped before the whole thing vanished, just before the first splash could hit the floor.

“Ron,” Harry murmured, his throat as sore as the rest of his body. “Tolbert.”

All in the room seemed to look to Tolbert at once, who still sat, immobile. Ron, with a muttered curse that threw a glowing shield around the boy, lunged forward, intent on grabbing him by his robes and hauling him out of the way. At the same time, Harry watched with widened eyes as a vivid green cursed raced through the air, piercing the shield. By the time Talbot slumped over in his chair, eyes clear, but empty, the two wizards were gone.

* * *

Harry followed Ron back to the Ministry. It was a credit to the Aurors who still lingered in the Atrium that they didn’t blink an eye. Harry’s body was still screaming at him, the after effects of the brief _crucio_ tensing his muscles and making him ache. Ron kept looking back with worried eyes, his own wand still in hand. Soon, Ron was right beside him, supporting Harry with a hand clasped around his upper arm. Silently, Harry accepted the assistance, closing his eyes briefly as a shudder wracked through his whole body.

Barely noticing the multitude of secretarial witches and wizards at various desks on his way, the two found their way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with Harry leaning on Ron for support. They passed the Improper Use of Magic Office and the Wizengamot Administration Services doors to shove their way through the heavy oak doors leading to the Auror Headquarters.

Though the Auror teams initially stood to address the intrusion on the buzz of conversation concerning their various open cases (and how they would be affected with the recent turn of events) they all went back to their own files as Robard’s voice gave a loud order from the open door of his office. Harry’s eyes, open now, took in the Aurors at their cubicles. He darted glances from one to the other, nearly forgetting his own pain, not wanting to admit to himself what he was really looking for. But, it turned out, Harry found it, as Draco Malfoy’s shared cubicle had not been moved in the last year, eight months and twelve days since they last spoke. Eventually, Harry and Ron passed the familiar desk (not a thing out of placed or changed in that time) only to see that it was empty.

“There you go, mate,” Ron said to him, pulling Harry’s attention back to him. Standing outside Robard’s office, the Head Auror was holding out a potion vial. The man’s fierce expression softened just a touch as Harry reached out to accept it with a shaking hand.

“It’ll help with the pain,” his gruff voice accompanied. “Weasley, inside.”

“Just stay here, Harry.” Throwing back the potion, the relief was immediate. He simply nodded to Ron, turning away as the door closed between them.

Undistracted, Harry’s eyes landed on a head of pale blond hair, sinking behind the wall of a cubicle. Without stopping to think about it, Harry started walking until the desk came back into view. While it had been empty before, now Draco stood inside, speaking quietly to his partner, former Ravenclaw Roger Malone.

Malone looked away from the file they were pouring over first and took a visible huff of breath, darting side glances at Draco, who remained immerse in the reports in front of him. When Harry moved closer, the Ravenclaw released a heavy breath and banged a hand against the desk, barely breaching the sound barrier outside of the shared space. Finally, it gained Draco’s attention. For a long moment, Draco’s expression maintained cool distance, regarding Harry and his rumpled appearance with no more consideration than once would give a pest moving in the opposite direction. Harry knew from those eyes alone that Draco was not really seeing him. It was a look Draco assumed often when he was studying or doing homework he was determined to finish before paying attention to anything else, _including_ Harry. The familiar look sent a pulse of _something_ through him, but Harry was determined to ignore it, as it only made the darkness rattle its cage harder.

But those eyes flickered and, without a word, Malone was melting away in the general area, moving away with sure steps and not a single glance backward. Then Malfoy was sitting up, straightening his spine impossibly as he leaned gracefully back in the provided desk chair and sending an eagle-feathered quill dancing between his fingertips.

And his mouth was curling into the beginning of a familiar smile as his regal voice said, “Harry.”

Forgetting completely the reason he was there, Harry’s own smile brightened his ivy colored gaze.

“Draco.”

With the minute shifting in Malfoy’s eyes, even now, so long after their not-so-secret affair was over, assured Harry that it was not just his imagination. Those molten eyes melted and even the smile on those lips softened further as Draco dropped his quill and pushed aside his files to lean over the desk. Harry felt a shiver deep in his stomach as Draco abandoned all his pure-blood rules to drop his elbows to the tabletop and staple thin, pianist fingers beneath his chin. A shuddering breath came from Harry's chest and he could barely contain himself with _wanting_ what was sitting so close, but not close enough. Harry was forced to remind himself the kind of possession he’d once been faced with during Eight Year.

“Harry,” Draco said again, voice going soft and low. The man, now all smooth curves, titled his head in Harry’s direction, curious gaze touching each visible part of him. Harry was intensely aware of how long those eyes settled on the smile which had yet to fall from his lips. “You’re not here ogle me, are you?”

“No.”

“I thought not.” Draco’s gaze drifted over Harry. “They don’t have enough intelligence between them to come to their own conclusions, but it’s all over the department, Harry.”

“It’s not unusual, really.” Harry’s smile vanished and his brows drew together. “I’m used to the world turning on me when something doesn’t go their way. It’s no different from before.”

“But it is different. They’re sure that this is all your fault. These wizards are after you and they’re going through the rest of the wizarding world, including fourteen year old Hogwarts students, to get to you. And they don’t want you dead.” Draco studied Harry before flickering his eyes over to Robard’s closed door. “Don’t you see? They managed to get you to leave Grimmauld, gotten you in public and attacked. I’m not the only one who realizes it. I’m warning you, Harry, Robards is behind that door trying to use you as bait for another attack.”

Stopping, Draco took a deep breath and reached behind him, pulling out another file. This one, instead of similar to the others, was marked closed. He placed a long, pale hand on top of it, before looking back at Harry, his eyes sharper than before.

“A student is dead and no one seems to know anything about where he came from. Robards is convinced he was an estranged muggle-born and doesn’t want to look too far into the matter. Most of them are glad not to have to reach out to parents and tell them their child is dead.” Draco scowled fiercely, pressing harder against the closed file. “Yet, I’d already done some digging of my own when Tolbert came to the station to give his official statement. Fourteen years of age and filed to have been born around March of 1987, Tolbert matched the attributes of a pureblood boy, disappeared in September of 1991.”

“The year we began at Hogwarts,” Harry mused.

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “The name of the pureblood? Nott. Gareth Nott. That family may have managed to stay on the outskirts of this war, but they did keep on Voldemort’s good side. There’s no reason to believe they were as neutral in this war as they tried to make everyone believe.

“But there’s no way to prove Gareth and Tolbert are the same person. Because he’s dead.”

“Yes, he’s dead, Harry. He’s dead because of _who_?” Draco leaned forward, his eyes bright and his smile fierce. “He’s dead because these wizards, who are apparently guilty of not only kidnapping, but outright _murder_ , killed him. The wizarding world is convinced this is a new rise of Death Eaters, but the only man _mad_ enough to murder pureblood wizards in an attempt to _save_ the blood of those who are pure is dead. You killed him Harry. What does that mean?”

“It means,” Harry said slowly, catching on, “that these aren’t wizards trying to kill off muggle-borns and half-bloods. Then who are they?”

When Draco only looked back with his grim eyes growing dark, Harry understood there was no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up stuff about the Notts! (It's okay, it's not REALLY that important in the grand scheme of the reason for this fanfic...)
> 
> Also, I borrowed Harry's conjuring of the Patronuses from McGonagall, who conjured three of them in Deathly Hallows to alert the Heads of House when the Final Battle was beginning (in Chapter 30: The Sacking of Severus Snape).
> 
> P.S. Reminded by a certain comment last chapter, I changed the tag for the Harry/Draco relationship.


	3. White Balloons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione tie the knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! This chapter is done and it's been a month and I'm really sorry! 
> 
> But I'm being promoted to manager at my job and I need all the time I can to focus on that training! Still, super sorry it took so long and I really, really, really promise to have a chapter up in exactly 1 week, no matter how long or short (i'll hate if it's short), but guess what? Next chapter is the first chapter in which we get into the Supernatural part of this fic! 
> 
> So wish me luck, tell me how much I should update next week and let me know what you think of this chapter, please!

**Immortality Never Meant Not Dying**

_White Balloons_

* * *

Draco kept his own research a secret and as the Auror department struggled with their open cases, the wizards erased all trace of their presence around the wizarding world. Witnesses who once gave their statements seemed to have forgotten the incidents entirely and in various areas, many were coming across the same lack-of-signature left at the Milton scene. Some of the places had never once been on the Ministry’s radar. As Auror cases were left floundering, going cold the longer they sat with no activity, the attention once given to the department was turn toward Harry, once again. While none of them were outright predatory in nature, passing blame as they did when he was a teenager, they left the public with ideas about the presence of Harry Potter in a place where a young boy died (once again) and the wizards responsible were left to escape.

Harry, on the other hand, kept far away from reports, visiting daily with Hermione and Ron, even lunching with Pansy on occasion as she spat her sly Slytherin vitriol at her fellow journalists at the _Prophet_. Most importantly of it all, Harry found himself visiting with Draco more and more often.

Since Harry last visited with Draco, the man had moved from the Manor. When given Draco’s floo address, Harry found himself looking at a small, cozy sitting room, with matching black couch and chairs and a cherrywood table sitting on a tasteful rug. There were a few paintings, one of which looked nostalgically similar to that of the painting hiding the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens. However, there were no pears, instead just a bowl of fruit, each piece looking as if they were burrowing further into the bowl upon perusal. The other paintings had to be some distant Black family relations, but it came as less of a surprise than Harry thought it would. Draco had been very clear about his disapproval of his Malfoy blood after the conclusion of the war.

Harry clear his throat and turned away from his study of the room.

“Draco?” he called when there was no sign of his host.

“In here,” a muffled reply came. Harry cocked his head, before stalking through the small house to make his way down the stairs leading off the kitchen. Whatever Harry had been expecting, it was not a potions lab, set up meticulously with an entire wall carved into shelves to hold the various potions ingredients. With a quick look – and a potions eye which only developed during his final year of school – Harry could tell that the ingredients were sorted by perishability (each marked with dates for expiration or those that could be saved indefinitely), poisons, catalysts and those which had no harmful effect, and finally, by name. Draco himself was standing beside a stool, stirring slowly with his eyes set determinedly on the liquid inside the cauldron. Beside Draco and the cauldron was a bicorn horn, spelled to break off pieces which dropped themselves into a mortar and pestle, where it was then ground into dust.

“Making Polyjuice?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising. For a moment, Draco’s eyes flitted over to him, conveying hit utter disbelief at Harry’s question before he looked away to stir and raise his wand with the other hand. The pestle immediately stopped grinding and the mortar was settled onto the table. Draco promptly reached over and dumped the dust into the potion. Of any potion Harry had every seen created, none had called for so much bicorn horn. “Really, what are you doing?”

“Give me a moment.”

Draco continued to stir, counting aloud in whispers until he reached seventeen, when he pulled his stirring rod from the cauldron and set it aside. With his eyes on the cauldron, Draco missing it rolling from the table, but Harry stepped forward to catch it and set it at a steadier angle. He took the stool which had been abandoned and watched with interest.

“This is a potion I’ve been developing since Tolbert came to the Ministry.” Draco settled three vials down beside the cauldron, switched off the fire underneath and cast a weak cooling charm. He watched the potion as it stopped bubbling, before another flick of his wand send the vials to fill themselves. Only then did he turn to look at Harry, his bright gaze dimmed by the scarce lighting in the basement. “I’ve developed it similarly to Polyjuice, but it’s not. This potion is going to prove that Tolbert and the missing Nott child are the same person.”

“I’ll bite,” Harry said, settling back and holding in a huff of breath. “How?”

“Like Polyjuice, a hair will activate the potion.” As he spoke, Draco demonstrated. He paused to pull a few strands of his own hair and slipped them into the first vial. The potion flared briefly, turning white, before it settled into a clear gold. “Right now it’s reading my own pureblood ancestry. Now,” he went on, as the potion turned green and settled into a more solid color, “it’s ready to use. Here, budge over.”

Harry ducked his head, barely escaping the roll of parchment he hadn’t even noticed Draco summon. It was a larger size than the average they were required to use in school. In fact it looked different, too, and when Harry shot a half-exasperated, half-curious look in Draco’s direction, the man looked just as smug as he’d used to.

“Potion can’t work without this,” Draco said. “I’ve already managed this one, but the parchment used with this has to be soaked in another potion, _also_ of my own design. Take this, Harry. Roll it down the end of the table.”

Without protest, Harry unrolled a section of the parchment, until either end was hanging from the table. With a well-aimed cutting charm, Draco set aside the remaining roll and floated the empty cauldron to an empty side table on the other side of the room. He set aside his wand and grabbed the vial, holding it above the parchment.

“My family tree,” he said before pouring the potion down the length of the page. For a few moments, nothing happened. Both Harry and Draco waited, but it was Harry who noticed the slow writing stretching itself across the surface. Pulling out his own wand, he cast a _lumos_ , aiming the light at the dark spot he’d seen moving at the very bottom of the page. First, Draco’s own name wrote itself, in his own hand, no less. Then, connecting webs of lines edged up the center, splitting into the families of the Malfoys and the Blacks. Lucius alone to one side and Narcissa paired with Andromeda and Bellatrix. The vast web continued, moving faster as it stretched up the page like a live thing seeking air. Beside Harry, Draco was drinking in the tree with awe, a hand reaching out to brush over the names of Malfoy’s past he’d not seen since he’d left the Manor behind.

“Have you told any one about this?” Harry asked, his own eyes scanning the names as they expanded.

“Look at this,” Draco whispered. He pointed to the top of the page, where names had begun to appear and the apparent evolution of the Malfoy name had begun to show. In the place of Malfoy there was Malfoye. “My father’s family tree doesn’t even go back this far. Can you imagine what this could do for the Ministry? For the world? For _muggleborns_?” Draco inhaled a sharp breath at that.

Harry could, in fact, but he was currently in mixed opinions about the matter. If anything, the Ministry would use it as an experiment to find out if muggleborns were the result of ancient wizard/muggle relations which had diluted the bloodline. In effect, it if it was the truth, it would start another battle of real, _pure_ muggles being less than that of any of wizard kind, muggleborn or not. If it weren’t the truth, and some muggles were just born with magic, there would still be experimentation as to why; debates and witches and wizards choosing sides. Harry felt sick at the prospect.

“Have you told anyone?” Harry repeated firmly. Draco turned to look at him, his sharp eyes studying Harry closely. It was a long moment before Draco straightened, taking his hand away from the parchment and seeming to collection himself.

“No,” he answered, looking back before he carefully began to roll it up again, the growing of the tree slowing. “This wasn’t meant to be something more than finding out if Tolbert and Nott are connected or just the same. I needed some leverage to have over their family.”

As he spoke, he briskly rolled out another page and Harry watched with his eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re doing it right now?” he asked.

“Yes. Why not?”

“You have Tolbert’s hair?” Harry’s eyes widened.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Draco asked, rolling his own eyes. “I took the cutting the first time he came to the Ministry. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not one for dead bodies.”

Draco repeated his process, taking a cutting of the hair and saving the rest to put in the potion. Together, they waited for the potion to set. Once it had, Draco poured it over the parchment, and they didn’t have to wait long then. Right there, at the bottom of the page, the name Miles Tolbert nee Gareth Nott. Draco and Harry looked at one another and then back at the name, ignoring the family tree spreading before them.

“ _Nox_. What will you do now?” Harry asked.

“I’ll wait. For the right moment.” Draco straightened from the table, swallowing and turning for the stairs. “Tea, Harry?”

Without answering, Harry followed Draco up. When he reached the kitchen, Draco turned to put the kettle on, pulling out a small chest he opened at the center of the table. Harry looked in and was surprised to see the two separate kinds of tea packets there; Draco’s usual Earl Grey black and ginger lemon, which Harry had taken a taste too once he discovered Kreacher was bringing it to him to spite him in his passive aggressive way before they’d reached their understanding. Once he’d discovered a liking to it, Harry pretended to keep hating it and Kreacher continued to bring it, though Harry suspected the elf was much smarter than that.

“Mother and Aunt Andromeda have been speaking.” Draco suddenly announced. Harry turned to look at him as he stood hunched over the heating kettle. His shoulders were tense, his back a straight line that Harry remembered once soothing away. But now he kept his hands to himself and waited. “Aunt Andromeda mentioned she asked you to consider me,” he continued. “As your plus one, I mean.” Harry’s furrow cleared and he watched Draco a bit more intensely. “So why didn’t you?”

Draco’s voice had gone small, hurt, but questioning. Harry answered the only way he knew how; honestly.

“I wasn’t in the best place then. I hadn’t been out of my own house in months Draco, besides going to visit Teddy. I’d barely even spoken to Ron and Hermione. The first I heard from them in weeks was Hermione coming to tell me about the wedding. I wasn’t….” Harry struggled, trying to find the words. “I wasn’t okay. Especially not after the war and how we ended things. You remember, don’t you?”

“I do,” Draco replied, turning, and removing the kettle from the fire. It hadn’t even begun to boil. “And I know what I said. But I still waited for you, you know. To see if you’d come after me.” Draco’s gaze burned, but Harry turned away. He heard footsteps and was forced to turn again when a smooth, pale hand crept into his vision and lightly guided him back around. “I’m still waiting.”

The kiss pressed to Harry’s lips was chaste, but familiar in a fiery way that sent his heart pounding and his stomach falling into his shoes. Hands that he had no control over tangled themselves into Draco’s soft hair and pressed closer, turning the kiss into something more; different. Something which had led to many burning nights wrapped around each other in a feather-soft bed the Room of Requirement provided.

Immediately Harry pulled away, curling his fingers into fists as that dark spot in his chest flared and snapped grasping strands. He closed his eyes, controlling his breathing; controlling himself.

“I’ll still wait.” 

* * *

Weeks later, Harry disapparated onto the lawn of the Burrow, where the wedding venue had been set up in abundance. It wasn’t unlike Bill and Fleur’s wedding some years ago now, but it was different in its own way. Set as the aisle was the same violet carpet, which Hermione had adored so much the first time she’d seen it. But the rest of the venue, apart from the large tent the majority was set up inside, had been decorated in a way that appealed to not only the wizards in attendance, but the muggles as well, from Hermione’s family, who were well versed in who and what she really was. Arranged on either side of the carpet were chairs, draped with white chair liners trimmed with gold and with a custom symbol. Upon closer inspection, Harry grinned at the tell-tale image of the outlined terrier curled around the solid gold form of an otter.

The weeding arch at the end of the aisle was made of white and violet lavenders. Attached to it were no less than six white balloons. Upon further inspection, Harry noticed there were dozens of the balloons circling around the room and even attached to the chairs in the back row. The poles around the tent were similarly decorated where they held the walls to attention. Despite the warmer air outside, the tent was cooled, keeping it from becoming stuffy before the guest were welcomed in from the outside.

As he crept out of the tent, where he’d gone when he’d noticed Ron was busy speaking with Hermione’s mom and dad at the far side of the field. Taking them in, Harry understood that it wasn’t a horrible conversation and simply gave Ron a nod when he looked up and noticed Harry. Instead of interrupting what was likely the first of many conversations between the in-laws, Harry made himself busy visiting with Hermione’s relatives who’d taken some enjoyment from watching where George, Charlie and Bill were chasing the garden gnomes.

Just then, the crack of multiple apparitions startled the muggles Harry was with. With reassurances to them, he went to head off the Weasley relatives who were arriving and greet his familiar, rowdy, old friends.

“Harry!” Dean called where he stood beside Seamus, who was jumping pathetically to see over the heads of the people surrounding him. As Harry grew closer, he chuckled as he was embraced. The two had obviously done their shopping together as they weren’t simply wearing matching formal robes, but the _exact same_ robes. “Haven’t seen you in a while, mate, how’ve you been?”

“It’s been better,” Harry admitted. “But being here feels good, yeah?”

“Of course, of course,” Seamus interrupted. “Seen those articles, we have.” Harry wasn’t surprised. Both Dean and Seamus had left for Ireland, Tralee specifically, where a small wizarding village (far from any major branch of the wizarding community) had allowed them to set up a small un-official Auror force. The _Quibbler_ often wrote about how the two of them, together, were unstoppable. “Those journalists are as mad as they’ve ever been. We know you’re not _that_ bad, Harry.”

They laughed and Harry clapped Seamus’ shoulder as he spotted Luna coming up close, and unfamiliar wizard looking around curiously and keeping close to her side.

“I appreciate that, Seamus.”

“It’s been ages,” Luna greeted as she came closer. Dean and Seamus turned to say hello and introduced themselves to Luna’s guest after a quick scan Harry recognized from Ron’s days of Auror training.

“Hello, Luna. Have you been getting my letters?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you,” Luna beamed. “It’s wonderful to hear from you, but it’s even better to see you. You look much happier and you certainly sound it more than your letters.”

“My days have been much better,” Harry assured her. “I feel better.”

“Wonderful!”

She reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand before she removed it to lay it on the wizard’s arm, who (strangely) was wearing a set of robes unlike those which Ron were forced to wear for the Yule ball. Harry held back laughter as Dean and Seamus dismissed themselves to ambush Neville and Hannah, who were speaking with George across the yard.

“This is Rolf,” she introduced, drawing the man’s eyes over. “Rolf Scamander. This is Harry Potter.”

“It’s great to meet you, Mr. Potter,” Rolf said, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand. Immediately, Harry was struck by how strange it was to be called ‘Mr.’ by someone of similar age.

“Harry,” he corrected. “Nice to meet you. Luna’s told me about you, and I know of your grandfather well enough.”

“Yes, Harry and I have been discussing the creature we trapped in South America.” Rolf nodded sagely.

“Of course. It was terrible what it did to that girl. I believe she was only sixteen years old.”

“Luna says there were others. Other kids, I mean, all around or between fifteen and seventeen. Did they have anything in common?”

“Quite,” Rolf answered. “They all went to the same school; however, they were separated classes, you know, muggle courses and all. The last any of them had been together in any capacity was a camp they visited when they were just children, eight or nine years ago I believe. However, we couldn’t find anything further and the muggle police force was becoming involved and we had to make ourselves scarce.”

“Of course.”

“Hello.” Harry turned at the heavily accented voice over his shoulder. There stood Victor Krum, dressed down in a black suit and a fur lined black cloak over it.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Harry said, giving a wide smile.

“Da. Ronald invited me. I vas surprised, but it is vonderful to meet vith Hermione again.” Krum grinned and turned to look over his broad shoulders. “I noticed you here and I zought to say guest are heading inside. Ceremony will start.”

“Then I should find Ron,” Harry replied, looking around.

“Zank him for me. And inform him he vill have to relinquish Hermione for dance.”

“I will.” Harry turned to look at Rolf and Luna, who was watching the interaction with similar curiosity. “You should all go find your seats. Molly will be beside herself if we don’t start on time.”

It turned out that Harry didn’t have to search. Ron was outside the side entrance, pacing, and look relieved when Harry turned up. Ron reached out to clasp Harry’s arms, his eyes warm and his smile wide.

“Mate, I’m getting married.”

“You’re getting married,” Harry agreed. He gave Ron a quick hug, pulling back and nodding. “I’ll see you inside, yeah?”

“Yeah…. yeah.”

As Harry preceded into the side entrance and looked out over the crowd of wizards and muggles, seeing bright faces. The muggles had let go of their curiosity, eager to see one of their own enter into marriage, just like the wizards. And for a moment, they weren’t wizard and muggle, they were people, ready to see the beginning of a new life and Harry was proud. This was what they’d all fought for in the war. While the Weasley’s were not witches and wizards who had once saw muggles as less than, they were the perfect example of what Harry, and many around him, wanted to see the wizarding world embracing.

He took his place standing tall in his place as best man. Beside him was George and Charlie and the other Weasley’s were in the front row, Molly clasping Arthur’s hand with tears in her eyes just as the ceremony officiate raised his wand and began a slow, unfamiliar tune. At the same moment, Hermione and Ron came in from their entrances, Hermione on both her parents’ arms. Her parents were pressed close, probably remembering that it was less than a year ago they had no idea who she was. Harry knew, without a doubt, that if Hermione hadn’t cracked the key to reversing the _obliviate_ charm (a breakthrough even the Unspeakables hadn’t managed), the wedding would not be happening today. Harry took a deep, easy breath as Ron and Hermione reached the officiate and Hermione’s parents hugged them both before taking their seats.

“As we celebrate the bonding of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger…”

It was as the ceremony was beginning that Harry turned his eyes and noticed the tall, slim figure standing in the back of the tent, behind the last row. Draco’s eyes were own Harry, as bright as ever over the easy smile Harry had once seen so often spreading over his lips. And Harry finally relaxed, his eyes steady on Draco as the officiate continued speaking and Ron and Hermione bound themselves together for the rest of their lives.

The entire party was heading outside, where a dance floor had been cleared and dining tables situated around it. As Harry exited, eyes searching for the head of white-blond hair he was so familiar with, an explosion blew apart the tent behind him, coming down on top of screaming attendees. Seconds later, his wand was in hand as dark colored figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere, spread around the venue. Muggles were screaming as witches and wizards fired spells, refusing to ask questions as they simultaneously fought off the attack and tried to defend as many muggles as they were capable.

Harry rushed for the tent, focusing hard to cast a floating spell on the tent to pull it from those trapped beneath and firing stunners into the group of black robed wizards on the attack. As his floating spell lifted, a blasting curse slammed into the tent, sending it careening into the air, before it smacked against the edge of the Burrow (shattering a window on the way) before it rolled around the house and out of sight.

“Run to the house!” Harry shouted at the muggles still cowering where the tent had once been. He looked around wildly, seeing Bill and Fleur at the door. Bill defended while Fleur shouted, waving her arms to get the muggles out of immediate danger. “Go! Go there!” he pointed, almost smacking a balloon out of the way in the process. Finally, they were moving, and Harry was running again, dodging spells and redirecting some in the direction of the balloons which were already covering him as he ran. All across the field Weasleys and their guests were fighting, the shouts of spells and cries of their impact hitting Harry’s ears and making him stumble as his heart beat at the reminiscence of a battle one fought on Hogwarts grounds. But he pushed aside the agony building in him at the memory as he got back to his feet and ran to Draco, where he battled four of them alone. Draco, noticing his approach, took up a better stand. He and Harry stood back to back, taking down the wizards quickly and moving on after those still moving were contained with well-placed incarcerous spells.

The battle took a harsh turn as Harry began to see more of the distinctive glowing colors of the Unforgivables, tossed carelessly with no thought to who they would hit. As he and Draco mowed through the enemy still standing, they turned toward the primary front of the battle, where no less than thirteen Weasley’s stood arm to arm, George and Charlie included, firing spells with grim expressions as alternating wands held up shield charms so strong, they were nearly impossible to see through.

It was Harry who noticed the wizard on the far end, raising his wand and his voice unheard as his lips formed the killing curse. Without a thought, he raised his own wand, fingers clasping tight enough to chase away the blood from the tips.

“ _Bombarda Maxima!_ ” Harry bellowed and the spell slammed into the ground at the wizard’s feet, blowing his backward and out of sight as his curse went wide. It was George, standing beside Charlie, who tackled his second-oldest brother to the ground, scarcely stopping the spell from singing Charlie’s long hair.

Moments later, numerous cracks filled the air, Aurors arriving on scene and disarming the wizards before they could manage their own escape. Harry didn’t see Draco leave his side, numb as he was while George and Charlie embraced from their place on the grass. But he still heard it, over everything else, when Draco choked his name. Harry turned around, quick enough that he immediately felt dizzy.

He stumbled over, his heart going cold as he noticed the figures on the ground, Draco crouched beside them, his wand falling loosely to the grass. But Harry didn’t have to go any closer.

Where Draco kneeled and the bodies lay, a circle of balloons survived the attack, no longer white, but pink. Their gentle swaying in the wind turned the heart pounding words (‘It’s a girl!’) in Harry’s direction as he dropped to his knees. At the center of it all lay Hermione and Ron, their newly-ringed hands clasped, and their wands fallen uselessly aside.


	4. Four Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information about Ilvermorny is collected from willowwhisps' A Guide to Ilvermorny on Wattpad. 
> 
> Acceptance letter adopts some aspects from Jennymarie6212002's Ilvermorny Today.

**Immortality Never Meant Not Dying**

_Four Years Later_

* * *

“We’re having an inspection?” Germany asked, shamelessly scanning the email over the shift lead’s shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes and put a firm hand on the 21-year-old bartender’s shoulder, settling him back in the stool stolen from the bar. The office was cramped enough, and he’d only come back to grab the inventory list to do the counts. Germany, he knew, should have been clocked out fifteen minutes ago.

“Yes, it’ll be in the morning,” Harry said. He spotted the clipboard and picked it up before eying the office again, trying to locate a pen. It seemed they were always going missing one way or another. “They want to make sure we’re up to code for the party tomorrow night. So, that means, Germany, since you’re _still_ here, you can go to the bar and start cleaning.” Harry gave him a pointed look before nabbing a pen he spotted sticking out from behind the printer. Becca, the shift lead who was still scanning emails as if the conversation never happened, gave him a menacing sort of look. Harry shrugged and tucked the pen into the clipboard as Germany skirted past. Harry knew, for certain, that he was going to clock out and go home.

“Tell me again why we’re entertaining little boys with too much money on their hands?” she asked once Harry heard the front door close, the lock clicking. “You can tell the others what you like, but _I_ know the last inspection was just a week ago.”

“Because they’re paying for it,” he promptly answered. “I’m sure if you were buying out a club for the night, you’d want to see what you were paying for, too. At least we don’t have the decorate.”

“No.” The glower on her face deepened and Becca cut sharp eyes at him even as she logged out of the managerial systems and put the computer in shut down. “I just have to be here to _watch_ the little freeloaders do it.”

“It’ll only be an hour and Brady will be here with you.” The assurance was met with another dirty look as Harry left the office, already scanning the inventory form and heading for the supply room. He made quick work of doing the counts, scrawling down numbers and writing in the estimates for the consumption at the party tomorrow night. The freeloader’s parents had agreed to paying for fifty percent of the stock that would need replacing, so he’d have to redo the counts afterward to verify his estimates, order an “emergency” stock truck and mail their half of the bill. If he included his already half empty liquor bottles decorating the bar, they didn’t need to know.

By the time he rounded back up to the office, Becca was gone, and her clock receipt was resting in her hours cup. Once Harry collected Germany’s own ticket, he put it back where it belonged, and clocked out before locking up. Running a practiced eye over the floor and tables, making sure all was cleaned and prepped (somewhat) for the next afternoon, Harry ascended the stairs to his upstairs apartment.

He tossed the keys on the end table in the main room before grabbing up the remote and switching on the television. Late episodes of _Charmed_ were playing and Harry debated before shrugging and tossing the remote aside and heading for the kitchen. Instead of involving himself in cooking dinner, he made a fast sandwich, decided he needed to do some shopping and moved back into the living room to watch the sister witches defeat demons and argue with angels.

When his phone chimed, Harry was awoken from the restless sleep he’d fallen into. By now, the view on the television had been transferred over to infomercials, their hosts with voices too loud for the early hours. Blearily, he blinked the sleep from his eyes, before picking up the phone to read the message.

 _You should come in. She’s not looking good._

* * *

When Harry took the port-key to America, he landed in Pennsylvania. It was the middle of the night and he had nothing but his wand. He was carrying a fair amount of guilt, for vanishing, but he had been drowning in a grief so strong it overrode all his other reasoning and he had to get away. Ron and Hermione were gone and so were some of their family, who all lay on the lawn of the Burrow, staring sightlessly. Harry couldn’t bring himself to say a word to anyone; not Draco, not Molly or Arthur, and he’d simply gone. It was a blur, really, how he’d obtained the port-key and the journey. He didn’t become aware until he was surrounded by the sound of crickets and other night crawlers murmuring their songs in the trees and in the grass surrounding the dark houses on either side of the street.

Wand still in hand, he’d started down the first street he could make out, which was a hill, steep and curvy. Harry walked it until he’d turned the final bend and come across a clearing, empty save for a large tree and a treehouse, falling apart around its branches. Without thought, Harry climbed into the tree, entered the treehouse through the trap door in the bottom and lay there, staring sightlessly until light had begun to breach the openings in the wooden slats.

When he could bring himself to move that morning, Harry realized that he was cold. Freezing, in fact, and his limbs were shivering so violently, he could feel the echoing tremors of the treehouse. Casting a quick warming charm felt as if he’d been blasted with heat and his skin stung and burned for a few minutes before his temperature settled and he was more comfortable where he leaned. Harry pushed himself up and gradually descended from the tree, raising his head to see an owl, resting resolutely on the dewy grass, staring at him with wide eyes and a small note around its leg.

_Whenever you’re ready, just come back. Please._

_Draco_

At the time, he’d simply crumpled up the letter and tossed it aside. The owl, waiting, had given him a long look before taking off. Harry hadn’t seen it again. He’d spent that day walking. The town he’d come across was small and quiet. There were no people in the streets, though cars littered the curbs and occasionally one would drive by. There were shops, but few, and a single bar in what seemed to be the busiest part of town, but still held far too few people to bother him. Harry spent that walk thinking with his eyes. He kept to the gray pavement, pictured the buildings and cars and the odd sign here and there as he passed. Eventually, when he found himself on a long road, heading away from town, he stopped and looked around. Across the road was open land, mostly dirt, but it looked like one of those paver places. The trucks were still, some stopped and left atop piles of black stone, crushed and moistened. Beyond that was a wall of land which hadn’t been torn down, but Harry could hear the faint crash of water as it pushed against the wall of earth, likely turning the water to mud. It was likely a river, he absently decided before holding out his wand and casting a point me, using the name of the road he’d arrived on as his focus.

Harry arrived back at the tree before the road and cancelled the spell. He was stopped at the tree, but when he looked up, the trap door was open. With a furrowed brow and his wand in hand, Harry climbed unsteadily until he rose inside and saw her for the first time. It was a girl, dirt stained and stick thin, lying asleep where Harry had once rested with an equally soiled, oversized dog curled up around her small body. He hadn’t been sure what to make of her, at first. Her features were indistinguishable beneath the grime, but Harry didn’t need to _see_ her to notice the neglect she’d undoubtedly suffered. He could remember the nights curled up in his own cot beneath the stairs, ignorantly nursing his own bruises and injuries, unaware that this wasn’t something that other children had to do in the dark while dust and spiders rained down every time the steps were compressed. As numb as he’d been, he had then felt a spark of _something_ , buried in memories of when he was a child, before he’d been told he was a part of a world where people cared about him and whether he lived or died.

From there, it had only taken a moment longer before Harry turned away, walking briskly back in the direction he’d come. He passed homes, silent and still, ignored the single traffic light changing as it invited the ghost of past motorists to continue the drive up the hill and over where they couldn’t be seen. Harry finally came to a stop on the road he’d walked down, pausing at an intersection where Police Department was mounted in bold black letters to a tan, concrete wall and police vehicles were lining the parking lot across the road. For a moment, Harry hesitated, his head whirling with the remaining memories he had of muggle police. Clenching a hand around his wand, now concealed, he considered contacting MACUSA, American and unfamiliar as they were, but still not muggles, who he’d not had dealings with since after he’d said his last good-byes to what remained of his mother’s unscrupulous family.

In the end, when he stepped inside the department, he had all eyes and once he’d told his story, he was simply left behind. While there were calls ringing in to the fire department and calling for medical personnel, Harry slipped out unnoticed. He apparated to the trees just behind the fringe, keeping a hard eye on the treehouse the police had only just reached. When the girl was finally grabbed, Harry was torn as he heard screams and broken cries as she asked to be let go, left alone. Rising over her voice were the unshaken growls and snapping of the dog at her side. As the girl was taken to the emergency vehicle just arriving, the police began sectioning off the area, one climbing into the treehouse to take a closer look. Most avoided the snapping dog and the others who tried to contain it were only met with the viciousness of a wild animal protecting its person. When the ambulance took off, sirens screaming, the dog followed, bolting down the road and staying just at the tail.

And Harry? He could only follow. 

* * *

When Harry got to her room, it was still. She sat at the window, chair pushed in close, and didn’t acknowledge him as the door closed. Her bed was made, neatly pulled taut at the corners and the frame pressed into the corner of the room just as she’d liked it. Even after four years, the room was bare, with yellowing white walls, linoleum checkered floors and the wardrobe and dresser pressed against the other walls. As Harry settled on the bed, silently seating himself, he noted that she was clean, her dark brown hair tied back, and her clothes unwrinkled.

At eleven years old, Lydia Malomen held herself with grace, rarely spoke and refused all offers of toys or personalization of her room (besides the single photo of a dirty dog, nailed to the wall next to the window). She rarely spoke, keeping to herself unless she was in one of her better moods, in which she would tell stories of places nobody knew existed…besides Harry. He recognized the telling signs, the words in which magic hid and the spells she often spat mindlessly, though the lack of wand and direction kept them mostly harmless and even more of the time, had no reaction at all. The police had never been able to trace her, as she had no muggle connections. Harry suspected they would never find her parents, because she was likely a pureblood, lost or abandoned to the muggle world when she was young and powerless. And it was probably because her magic wasn’t strong enough.

Even Harry hadn’t felt it until a year after his first visit (right after she was admitted, and the government was through with documentation and questioning). He’d had hope for her; that she was just another little muggle girl who’d gotten lost and would eventually be reunited with her parents. But days, then weeks, then months passed, and she was going to be formally tossed into the foster system – until she’d loudly refused and sat unforthcomingly silent in her prescribed therapy sessions. Harry, who signed into the hospital under a false name, and hadn’t appeared to the police for his own interrogations when the media got involved, understood that he was the worst candidate and simply stood aside. His silent solidarity had kept Lydia company as she grew, and he suspected it wouldn’t change.

That is, until he saw that the room was not as spotless as he’d previously believed. Because sitting beside her on the dresser was a letter, trifold with a ribbon and wax seal broken.

Miss L. Malomen

Room 1219

Valley Hospital

Stanford, California

He didn’t even need to stand to know what it said as he was transported back to a time when his own similar letters had come speeding through mailboxes and the fireplace and owls lined the Dursley’s house in masses. Still, he stood and picked it up to read anyway.

_Dear Ms. Malomen,_

_With great honor, we are pelase to inform you that you have been invited to attend the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We await your owl by no later than July 31 st. Term begins on September 14th. We very much look forward to receiving you as part of the new generation of Ilvermorny’s Heritage. _

_Attached here is a list of everything you will need to bring._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Borden Paris_

_Deputy Headmaster_

“’First year students will require three pairs of blue or cranberry pants, knee length short or skirts (if wearing a skirt, you must bring tights in blue, cranberry or white), five blue or cranberry polo shirts, one pair of dress shoes,’” Lydia’s small voice sighed. Harry looked up, yet she still sat in her chair, staring from the window. “’ _The Standard Book of Spells_ , Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk. _American Magical History_ , by Candice Calderon. _Chadwicks Charms_ , by Chadwick Boot. _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , by Emeric Switch. _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , by Phyllida Spore. _Positively Perfect Potions_ , by Mary Jauncy. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , by Newt Scamander. _The Dark Arts and their Defenses_ , by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.’

“The owl is still here.” The last was added abruptly and Harry was pulled from his own spiral, seeing their names inked on the parchment. Wiping his eyes once again, Harry stood, casting the letter aside, finally, and looking out the window where a barn owl clung sideways to the wooden post holding up the power lines. Despite the odd position, it looked comfortable, regarding its audience with indifference.

“They said today was a bad day,” Harry recalled, not taking his eyes from the owl.

“I wouldn’t open the door. The owl was inside just ten minutes ago.” Lydia shifted in her seat. Harry put a hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed. “You knew this would happen.”

“I hoped,” Harry answered honestly. “I didn’t suspect you were a witch for a long while, Lydia. Your powers were dormant, and still then not very powerful. There would be no use getting your hopes up. But this is a place you can belong, just like I found my place when I went to study.”

“Is it good there?”

“It will be.” Of that, Harry was certain. Whether the school was in Scotland or Massachusetts, he knew for certain that finding a place to belong was no small venture. Connecting with people of her own kind would do her some good and Harry would make sure she got out of here to attend, just so she could find her place. With a smile, Harry kneeled down next to her and pulled out his phone. A few taps in and he was looking at the calendar, where it read July 30. Lydia peeked down at it, before turning to face Harry, where he held a pen in one hand, extended to her. “It was the best decision that was ever made for me,” he said with a laugh.

Lydia smiled and took the pen. With nothing of her own, She took the letter, printed on plain white paper, and tore the bottom half of the second sheet away, where she carefully wrote out her own acceptance. Harry, meanwhile, opened the window and sifted soft fingers over the owl’s downy feathers until Lydia tied the note securely. After the owl was gone, Harry and Lydia settled back into familiar silence until visiting hours were over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be the chapter in which I brought in the Winchesters, but Lydia Malomen practically created herself and I just couldn't say no to her and Ilvermorny and willowwhisps' A Guide to Ilvermorny on Wattpad, which I found a short time ago. 
> 
> More Miss L. Malomen next chapter!


	5. Lydia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's first steps into the Wizarding World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really a chapter. Mostly just a (teeny-tiny) look into Lydia's journey to Ilvermorny.

**Immortality Never Meant Not Dying**

_Lydia_

* * *

Harry signed the necessary forms to take Lydia out for the day. As they made their way out, they were followed by various other children; _other_ near-permanent occupants of the pediatric inpatient behavioral therapy ward. Most of them, Harry knew, were orphans, and the others just children whose parents hadn’t the means (or refused to accommodate) to take care of their children. Some held back gloomily, looking on as Lydia was let out for the day and the others waved good-bye as if they wouldn’t see her again.

They took a quick journey, choosing to take a taxi from the hospital to the muggle library in the middle of town. The Department of Magical Transportation listed the library’s basement as the closest departure location for authorized portkeys. Harry had made the arrangements days earlier and put in the request at the MACUSA portkey office. Still, as long as he’d been in America by now, Harry was surprised (and a bit cross, really) by the amount of paperwork the Americans required for the simplest things.

The library was small. It stood nearly isolated, a few trees lining the path leading to the doorway. Other decorations, such as statues and a small water fountain sitting among bright red mulch contrasting the well cared for grass. Instead of heading in the front, Harry walked the path around back with Lydia, leading her though her curiosity nearly caused her to pull farther ahead. When he reached the back door, a sign designating the location for authorized personnel, he stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him. Lydia was already running down the stairs, but Harry followed at a sedate pace. Once he reached the bottom, the red-haired wizard only glanced at them briefly before he pointed them abruptly in the direction of a novel sitting atop a podium. Stopping to take Lydia’s hand, Harry indicated her to grab the book with him. Before he was swept up into the portkey, he noticed, with interest, that the novel was _Alice in Wonderland._

“This is disgusting,” Lydia decreed solemnly. They had landed in an alley. It was light outside, but the too close walls blocked out any sort of light. She clasped Harry’s hand tighter as he looked around and promptly began walking forward, heading out of the alley. Together, they emerged on a street where people rushed by, talking on phones and ignoring them.

“Come on,” Harry said. He let go of her hand to point across the road, where a wider, but similarly dark, alley was. Lydia sighed and marched across the road, ignoring the honking in her wake as she cut off expensive looking cars as well as their pretentious owners. Harry, shaking his head, darted across after her. Sliding her a look once he’d caught up, he walked alongside her and pointed as they moved closer. “There it is,” he said.

Lydia stopped, crossing her arms as they stood before a large blue box with a silver door.

“It’s a port-a-potty,” she said blankly.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. His tone held off-hand amusement and dim acceptance of the circumstance. He was inclined to agree with the disgust Lydia had yet to show. He’d rather have the brick wall, but Americans were strange. He told Lydia as much and laughed at the face she pulled before they opened the door and stepped inside together.

Lydia hid a sigh when they finally emerged into the city of Dumora. The elevator doors glided closed behind them and ascended back to the port-a-potty entrance. Though the city was underground, the ceiling above their head was charmed much like the Great Hall of Hogwarts, mimicking the weather patterns of the world above their heads. Also, above them, older students, no doubt already seasoned Ilvermorny attendees, flew on their broom while they shouted with abandon and threw a quaffle back and forth until they were out of sight. A large sphere, hovering above the juncture in the road, flashed angry lights at the students while onlookers laughed. Witches and wizards bustled by, some king enough to smile at Harry and Lydia as they stood and took in the sights. They drifted away from the entrance, Lydia turning this way and that to see all of Dumora. One witch, walking beside a black-haired boy and carrying a single shopping bag, smiled at Harry with bright eyes and said, “Finally.”

As the two continued on their way, Harry and Lydia exchanged a look before they were laughing, and Lydia started running towards various shops. She reached into her pocket and read her letter once more, before she was taking off, first, to Boots Bargain Books. While she went immediately inside, Harry stopped curiously to read the plaque posted on the door.

“’ _Named for Chadwick and Webster Boot, Boots Bargain Books is the place to shop for all your fantastical, adventurous and educational literature! Browse thousands of novels and textbooks and take a chance on the Weekly Webster news!’_ ” Harry shook his head. Then his eyes caught the sign in the window. _Ilvermorny textbooks 10% off today only!_

 _Americans,_ he thought.

It was easy to find Lydia once he got inside, but she’d already located her textbooks and a few others she’d decided to keep. The textbooks were tossed off to the side, but when she saw Harry coming, she waved.

“Look,” she said. Picking up a book moved off to the side, she handed it to him and Harry took a moment to study it. _Practical Spellwork for Dueling Beginners_. “It’s a dueling manual,” Lydia said. “It’s got all sorts of spells you can use for practice. I’ve learned three of them just flipping through the first pages. You’ll get this one for me, too, won’t you, Harry?”

“Only,” Harry said, “if you’ll be careful. You’re still a beginner _witch_ , Lydia, let alone a duelist.” She gave him an unimpressed look.

“I’m not a child, Harry,” she claimed, though she was. “I know that I’ll have to wait until I’ve learned to do magic before I can practice dueling.”

“Good,” he replied, for lack of anything else. “Come on, let’s go buy your books and get to the rest of your list.”

Harry was reminded, upon exiting _Boots Bargain Books_ that the only other items left to gather was class equipment and clothes. The potions stop was close and it was there that Lydia picked out her own cauldron (as there was no distinction as to the type), a set of clear crystal vials, a mortar and pestle set and measuring scales.

When they came upon the clothing store (a rather popular one by the crowd inside), Lydia insisted she go inside alone. Harry gave her a handful of galleons that she stuffed into her own pocket and turned for the door. While he waited, Harry drifted over to the window of the pet shop. It was only across the road and a few cats, muggle if Harry was right, were lounging. They blinked up at him before tucking back in and promptly ignoring him. But Harry was looking past them to the owls, sitting primly on a tree inside, growing right in the middle of the shop. One of them was white with black spots and golden eyes. For a moment, he thought about Hedwig before he turned away to see Lydia standing outside watching.

“I’m going inside there,” she said. Lydia handed over a piece of parchment, expertly written with both her measurements and the accompanying list of clothes she’d gotten and their prices. Before Harry could get a word in, she dumped the remaining galleons, knuts and sickles into his hand and was through the door of the pet shop. 

* * *

Six weeks later, Lydia was formally released into Harry’s care and they were standing in a train station, standing on a privately registered platform with two or three dozen other students. Harry and Lydia, though, stood alone, though Harry was aware that he was drawing looks.

“You’ll be great,” Harry was saying to her. His own hand was still clasped around the trunk he’d kept at his own apartment for her. Everything they’d acquired in Dumora was packed inside, some shrunken as was necessary. Held on a chain was the pet she’d later chosen, a puppy named Miles, nearly five months old with a golden coat of fur. Lydia, when she’d first introduced them, had wistfully recalled that Miles was the same color her old dog had been, when the two found each other. The large dog they’d found Lydia with, Harry knew, had been put down by court order when she stalked the hospital and continuously behaved aggressively to anyone entering.

“And I can come back for holidays?”

“If you want to,” Harry assured her. “You may not want to, sometimes. You’ll be making friends, having new adventures. Nothing like any of mine, I hope.” It prompted a smile from Lydia, which went away as quickly as it’d come. “But I’ll be here when you need me. I promise.” 

* * *

When Harry returned home, after watching the train depart, there was a letter sticking to the back door of the bar. It became clear it was a sticking charm, when Harry pulled to no avail. Eventually, he flicked his wand out of the forearm holster and cast quickly. The wand was back in place before he’d finished opening the door.

Just inside, he opened the letter and was surprised to find Lydia’s handwriting.

_Harry,_

_I never got a change to say happy birthday, so here it is: Happy Birthday._

_I saw the two of you together while we were in Dumora and I knew this was what I was looking for. More importantly, I understood it was what you were looking for. Besides, she seemed to like you._

_Lydia_

Harry went up to his apartment, opening the door with bated breath. Just inside, sitting on a windowsill he knows he hadn’t left open, was the white owl. She turned to look at him, expectantly. The breath Harry took then was sharp; loud in the silent room.

“I suppose you need a name then.”


	6. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tense meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious I have no idea what I'm doing? I just wanted something out and I couldn't make myself write more. I've been having writers block practically my whole writing career. :/

**Immortality Never Meant Not Dying**

_Sam_

* * *

It was Wednesday, around ten at night, late into October when Harry’s bar doors opened near the end of a lackluster day. Germany, standing behind the bar and pretending to clean the glasses and top, looked up with interest. They were the only two left in the building. Wednesdays weren’t busy and that hadn’t changed in the years since Harry opened. While a regular Wednesday schedule started with three, he always sent someone home around noon just to keep costs down when they weren’t pulling any revenue. Unfortunately, Germany had been the one sent home last week and to keep matters fair, he’d sent Becca home.

Harry, standing in the doorway leading to the back of the bar, watched Germany approach the new customer. The man had brown hair, sort of dull looking and messy, strands all over the place and laying shaggily over his forehead. Not unlike Harry’s own. A brown jacket over a thin maroon hoodie and a black tee shirt was good for the increasingly frigid weather outside, but likely wouldn’t be comfortable once the heat inside started getting to him. He had an open face (a bit of a baby-face if Harry was honest) … which was changing the longer Germany stood talking to him. With a heaving sigh, Harry stood straight from the doorway and made his way over, gripping Germany’s shoulder and squeezing subtly. That didn’t stop Germany from ducking away from the touch ( _ow, ow, ow, owkay, geez_ ).

“I give you one job,” Harry said idly. “You can’t even do that right.”

“You suck.”

“Go unpack and get the boxes to storage. Then you can just go home.” Germany went off without another word, slinking through the door and closing it behind him. “Sorry about him,” Harry said to the brown eyed customer. He braced his hands on the bartop, looking up into the man’s face for the first time. A beat passed, in which Harry could see the curiosity in the man’s eyes. “What can I get for you?”

“A… beer?”

Harry’s lip quirked up, mostly without his permission. “You sure or are you asking?” The man just sighed and sat back in his stool. “Well, fine, I guess you pay for whatever I give you then. You _are_ 21 or older, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” the man answered incredulously.

“Alright, let’s see your ID, then.” Harry smiled easily. The man stared. “You Americans and the law, you know. Gotta make sure.” Finally, the man shook his head, brown hair shifting on his head as he reached in his jacket and pulled free his wallet. After flicking the wallet open for Harry’s perusal, the man, Sam Winchester, stuffed it back away. “Cheers, Sam.” Harry turned and grabbed a beer from behind the bar. He cracked the cap on the bottle opener designed into the bartop. Setting the brown bottle in front of Sam, Harry noticed the big white letters printed on the hoodie underneath.

“You go to Stanford then?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, after seeming to contemplate whether he should answer. He still hadn’t taken a drink. Harry waited, expectant, before an amused snort escaped him and be began to move down the bar.

“Well, you’re set and just let me know if you need anything.”

“Right.”

Harry went around to the back. As he turned the corner and heard the door shut behind him, Harry sighed heavily and rolled his eyes when Germany sprung up from where he sat on top of one of the boxes. He grinned at Harry as he put his phone away and the two got to work unpacking boxes that needed sorting and storing those that could hold a while as they used up the rest of their stock. Around eleven, Harry started looking out to the bar periodically once he noticed Sam was still around. He hadn’t gotten through half of his beer by then, though he declined when offered a new one.

For the next thirty minutes, Harry stuck to packing and putting away boxes. He and Germany worked quickly. Once it was all away, Harry dismissed the other employee, having to shout at him to remind him to take himself off the clock before he was gone. A distracted wave was all he got back as he stepped through the door again onto the main floor.

Still, Sam sat in his stool, beer still half full.

“You alright?”

This time, Sam startled and his open beer (undoubtedly flat by now) tipped over. The remaining liquid splashed over the counter.

“Damn it,” Sam said sharply, jerking the bottle upright. He looked around for something to mop it up with.

“That’s alright,” Harry assured. “No harm, no foul.”

“Sorry,” Sam muttered anyway.

“Like I said, it’s alright. You sure you’re okay?” Sam only shrugged at him and Harry sighed, taking the beer bottle and dumping the remains down the drain. He tossed the bottle into recycling. “It’s just that you’ve been sitting here nearly two hours.” When Sam looked up at him, Harry indicated the analog clock on the wall with a raised brow. Sam seemed to sag in his chair before he finally stood up and hesitated.

“My dad,” Sam started. He paused and looked up at Harry, searching him. “My dad,” he began again, more strongly, “called me.”

“Daddy issues?” Harry gave a half-smile he didn’t really feel.

“You could say that. I haven’t talked to him in years. But, you know, I get these nightmares and I – he was in one of them, just last night. And then he calls.” Sam looked away, pulling out the phone and fiddling with it. “I just… don’t think it was a coincidence, so I shouldn’t have ignored it, right? My roommate, Brady, seems to think I should just keep ignoring him.”

Harry paused behind the bar, idly contemplating as the words washed over him and he wiped the counter free of beer. Eventually, he gave a sigh and looked up. “I can’t really help you with answering that,” he said. “I never really had a dad, so I think I’d be biased if I told you that… whatever it is, you guys should talk. Work it out, yeah?”

Sam nodded, looking back at his phone. Then he straightened, his shoulder pulling back and reinforcing the height he had over Harry. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“You will if you ever stroll back in to not drink a beer, that’s for sure.”

Sam laughed, loud and sudden. Despite the late hour and the interruption to the silence Harry preferred, he found he wasn’t really bothered. He watched as Sam went out the front door, pausing and looking back just before the door closed between the two of them.

For the remaining half hour of business hours, Harry locked the door early and retreated into storage to finally getting around to doing his inventory count and writing down the orders for the next few business days. Once he’d gotten it all in the computer, Harry begins to close for the night, right on time at two in the morning.

As had become usual in the past month, Elder was perched beside Harry’s door when he entered. The owl watched him with wide eyes as he dropped his keys and went through his normal routine of switching on the television and heading toward the kitchen. Only then did she follow as Harry filled her food dish. He almost didn’t when he noticed the streak of red on the sill, an obvious sign she’d been hunting already that day. But she settled in to eat anyway and Harry went back to the front room with a sandwich and every intention on catching the tail end of the _Charmed_ reruns.

Harry woke up not remembering when he’d gotten to his bedroom to sleep. But his phone was buzzing, near falling from his bedside table and he grabbed it just as it stopped. Harry checked it, saw Germany’s name in the missed calls list and groaned before dropping it back down. But as it was nearly noon, Harry got up to shower and brush his teeth. He had to go to work in less than three hours, but Germany was in the habit of taking up his time with trivial matters and would likely keep him busy until then. That was the only reason Harry left his apartment, waving at Becca and Brady as he passed through the bar spattered with early drinkers.

Germany’s place was on the street opposite the social building of Stanford. The building, primarily for students who wanted to live off-campus, had four apartments. Germany lived on the upper floor of the left side of the building and Harry climbed the stairs to use the knocker. The man opened the door with a broad grin, waving Harry inside the apartment.

When Harry met the 21-year-old less than a year ago, he’d discovered Germany was one of the most eccentric muggles he’d ever known. Certainly, very different from the Dursley’s as he was prone to professing the existence of magic in crowded rooms as if he couldn’t sense the discomfiture of the people surrounding him. Harry thought he should just listen to him, find entertainment in it, until he realized, not long before he hired Germany, that the man wasn’t just deliberating a fantasy.

Germany Boot, of Terry’s extended American (primarily muggle) family, is a squib. Harry hadn’t made the connection himself until Germany showed up to the bar. It was the day of his twenty-first birthday (months ago now), when the man walked in with an application Harry didn’t remember handing to him in the first place. Germany hadn’t bothered with idle chat, but openly confessed to knowing who Harry was and asked for a job to keep out of trouble (his muggle family was convinced he’d drive himself spare trying to discover the reason the American bloodline was so powerless). After the letter he was sent from Germany’s aunt, who’d watched after him his whole life, Harry decided it _was_ best to keep Germany close. He _really_ didn’t want word reaching Terry, who would no doubt reveal his location to the remaining Weasleys without another thought.

“What is it?” Harry asked, unable to mask the exasperation, which had been building the entire walk.

“There’s magic being used at Stanford.”

And Harry blinked. Because that was _not_ what he was expecting. Then, he sucked in a steadying breath and leveled Germany with a look that was far from pleased.

“Germany,” he began. “Witches and wizards graduate magic school at _seventeen_. Many of them, especially _American_ witches and wizards, attend _muggle_ colleges and universities. It’s not unexpected for magic to be used.”

“I _know_ that. It’s not that kind of magic.”

Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Then what kind is it?”

“Okay, well,” Germany paused, eyes gazing at the ceiling before they returned to Harry. “I’m not sure _what_ kind of magic it is. And that’s the only reason I’m telling you. But look – ” Germany rounded his desk and flipped the chalk board over to the opposite side. Harry could only stare at it, because it was simply covered from top to bottom, edge to edge, with numbered lists, and a drawn graph which showed an obvious increase, though no evidence of where the statistics came from. But, a moment later, Germany was gesturing at the graph and the numbers and talking in an excited voice about things Harry could care less about.

Just weeks after his arrival to the states, he’d all but snapped his own wand. Magic was painful to use and at one point, he might have been exaggerating the truth. But the day he’d put protection spells on the bar (the first time in months since he’d used magic), Harry had been overwhelmed by a very physical pain, which drove him to his knees, battered his ribs and his chest before he’d collapsed inside the bar. He didn’t know what’d happened while he was unconscious, but he was found by the previous owner of the building, who was stopping by to pick up the last of her things. She was there when he woke, to make sure he was okay and ask if there was anyone she should call, but she was gone as soon as he was discharged. Harry had returned to the bar to find his wand had rolled beneath a booth in the corner. After retrieving it, he’d stowed it back in the wand box that had, at one point, contained Draco’s wand. Truth was, he hadn’t wanted to bother with magic after that. But –

“Wait a minute,” Harry interrupted. Germany went silent, his mouth still open on the words he hadn’t gotten to say. “How do you know this?”

“Come on. I’ll show you!” Germany ran back toward the guest room. When Harry stepped through the door, he nearly bolted. Germany had just reached the machine (the size of a company printer) and flipped a switch. As soon as the machine shuddered with activation, Harry felt a pull in his chest and an aborted motion, as if the darkness’s containment was being pried and pulled.

“Turn it off!” Harry barked, nearly unaware of saying it. Germany, his face the picture of surprised, immediately shut it down. The sensation went away, but the immediate feeling of violation stayed. “What is that?”

“It’s a magic detector.” Germany’s voice was more reserved as he observed Harry. His fingers tinkered with the machine but stayed away from the power switch. “I built it, but…. I didn’t know it did that. Honest.” Harry closed his eyes with a heavy sigh before he looked back to Germany.

“Now you know. Now, you need to consider the number of witches, wizards and whatever else might have felt that machine. MACUSA might have fewer laws in regard to witches and wizards and their muggle families, but Germany, something like this is going to get you attention that you _do not want_. Be careful with it and stop watching the university.”

“But, Harry, something is happening in that school. I knew it before and I’m more convinced now.”

“Germany, they kicked you out for harassing other students –”

“That wasn’t me!” Germany yelled. His hands fisted at his sides, Germany glared. “He did it and I caught him! There’s something wrong with Brody and I’m the only one that seems to see it.”

“Germany!” Harry snapped. “Stop it! Do you know what’ll happen if MACUSA finds out what you’re doing? There are rules, even for squibs. Don’t you understand that the war changed _nothing_? _Anyone_ who comes here and finds this could do whatever they want to you and they’d pretend you never even existed.”

The man’s gaze sharpened and Germany’s spine straightened as his eyes slid to slits.

“Well, then, you’ve lost your war. Squib or not, I won’t lose mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter.


End file.
